In Darkness He Cries
by Mina3
Summary: Because everything has a reason and apprenticeships are no exception. Early OrphenMajic


**In Darkness He Cries**  
by Mina

  


Standard disclaimers for _Majutsushi Orphen_ apply. Don't own Orphen, don't own Leki, don't ::sniffle:: own Majic either. Drat. So, basically, suing is pointless. Really. I mean, all I've got to give is my student loans and other bills… Hmmm, if someone sued you and they lost, and you could give them your debt in return…that would be really, really cool. On second thought, sue me, please! 

**Warnings:** Um, mostly introspection, light shounen ai, I guess, since this is supposed to be a glimpse of why Orphen apprenticed Majic in the first place. I guess this is kind of a prequel to _Wise Beyond His Years_, but it's not necessary to read that in order to understand this. 

**A/N:** I guess this is dedicated to D-chan, since she gave me such a stunning review (not to mention plugging my fic ^_^) for _Wise Beyond His Years_. She made me blush, which was unusual but nice. Now, go and read her stuff as well! 

* * *

The moon was full and hallowed with an eerie purple shadow, one that had sent many a villager scurrying into their homes, making a warding sign against evil. Two people, however, disregarded such superstitions and were enjoying the opportunity that the light and quiet afforded.  
    They weren't together—at least, not directly. They knew each other, of course. They'd known each other for nearly eight months now, having lived under the same roof.     Then again, knowing each other and _knowing_ each other were two very different things. 

Majic Lyn was many things—kind, honest, pretty, hard working, self-effacing, and, for the most part, humble. However, he was also impetuous, cat-curious, and seemingly oblivious to the things most people considered dangerous.  
    This was, Orphen told himself, the number one reason he was skulking after the boy through the shadows of the forest's edge. Well, that and the fact that his own curiosity was eating at him worse than a vulture on a fresh carcass. He scowled at his analogy, the picture drifting into his head of young Majic dead at the foot of an enormous cliff, carrion birds circling overhead. Really, what on earth could have prompted the boy to head out into the forest on his own?     Majic paused, turning his head to look over his shoulder, hand clutching at the straps of his small pack. Quickly Orphen darted into the shadows, back pressed against the knobbly bark of one of the ancient trees. He closed his eyes and attempted to clear his mind, keeping his senses on alert. When he could hear the gentle _scuff scuff_ of feet on dirt and pine needles once again, he left his hiding place and continued after the blonde boy.     He was only fourteen, according to his father. In Orphen's opinion, Majic seemed much younger than that. Not necessarily in physical appearance: In that respect, Orphen could remember being that slender at the same age, having the same roundness to his cheeks. However, Majic's body definitely wasn't used to hard labour, and the boy had probably never had to defend himself in any way before. He was unusually effeminate in face and mannerisms; soft wheat-gold hair brushing his ears and the top of his collar, wide aqua eyes always blinking and alert, as if attempting to take everything in at once. And then there was his voice—it was a woman's voice, really, and though Orphen suspected that it would deepen in a few years, Majic would probably always have a throaty contralto rather than a "man's" voice.     Smiling into the semi-darkness that the trees provided, Orphen wondered if that bothered the boy any. Some of the boys back at the Tower had teased Hartia endlessly about his chiselled cheek and jawbones, about the light sprinkle of freckles that danced over his cheeks and narrow nose, his full almost pouty lips, and his shoulder length hair. Of course, Hartia had been a very competent sorcerer, not to mention his—well, Krylancelo's—closest friend, so the teasing hadn't lasted very long. Leticia and Azalie had been the only ones to continue, but they hadn't really counted, not when Rai and Hartia and Komikron and he…Krylancelo…had been able to stick together and fight the girls off.     Majic…     From what he'd seen and from what Majic's father had told him, the boy hadn't had any close friends in his life. There had been a girl who'd been a decent sort of friend, if occasionally a little to rambunctious and enthusiastic about things, but she'd been two years older than Majic, and her mother had sent her off to a boarding school in hopes of refining her manners. Since then, Majic had kept to himself, going about his duties at the inn and then disappearing either into his room or into the wilds beyond Totokanta when he was done.     If he were to admit it, Orphen's curiosity had been peaked for weeks. Seeing the boy in the daylight…and then following him out at night… Why, it was almost as if he were two different people!     Majic was now cutting up through the tree line to the ridge top, pausing once again though his attention didn't waver from whatever was in front of him. With a sigh, shoulders slumping, he began to shuffle over the ridge and down the hill.     Now, previous excursions through the forest told Orphen that there was a lake on the other side of the ridge. But what in the name of dragons could Majic want to go to the lake for with high moon being so close? He should be in bed, asleep, like all good little teenagers!     Orphen snorted at that, a smile tugging at his lips. Like _he'd_ ever been a well-behaved teenager…     Sliding briefly on the scree, Majic threw one arm out for balance, stumbling at the end but managing to remain upright. He giggled, a sound that carried like a bell peal on the quiet night air…a sound that tugged at a forgotten corner of Orphen's heart. Throwing the pack aside, Majic stretched his arms over his head, leaning from side to side. Eventually his arms fell limply back to his sides and he crouched down, appearing to contemplate the calm water's surface.     Orphen found a semi-comfortable spot amidst a fallen tree and berry bush, folding his arms before him and resting his chin atop them. Sighing again, he nibbled his bottom lip, eyes narrowed upon the blonde below.     To his surprise, Majic kicked his shoes off, bending over to pull his socks off as well. Then, without even a glance around, he began to strip free of clothing, letting the garments fall haphazardly to the ground. Orphen gaped openly, wondering if the boy had taken leave of his senses; sure, it was spring, but it wasn't _that_ warm! However, once Majic's skin was completely bare to the night sky and he began to step into the lake, Orphen found he couldn't turn away, no matter how much his remaining shred conscience told him he should.     It wasn't necessarily voyeurism that made him continue to watch Majic, though if he were being completely honest with himself, the sight of the boy's pale, slender body in the moonlight was enough to make even a god or goddess blush. What made him continue staring was the unusual sensuality with which the boy manoeuvred through the water, fingers trailing at his sides and just behind him, hips twisting in a slow, serpentine walk. He stopped when he was chest deep, raising his arms over his head, fingers flowing through his hair, over his shoulders, leaving glistening trails of moisture.     For a moment, Orphen forgot to breathe.     Silver light danced upon the boy's fingertips, almost unnoticeable in the bright moonlight. Being who he was, though, and what he was, Orphen knew the light instantly, knew it the way he knew his own limbs, his own soul, his own heart. He rose to his feet, leaning forward to make certain that his eyes and senses weren't deceiving him.     They weren't.     Mage light. The brilliant glow that speckled pale skin with dapple was mage light.     Once again breath stuttered across his lips, warm and damp, and his eyes continued their wide survey of the tableau. Never, not once, had Majic or his father mentioned the boy have sorceri potential.     Majic's silver-tipped fingers once again dropped to the water, leaving trails of light. After a moment, the boy dove into the water, the glow being the only telltale sign of his whereabouts.     He sat down abruptly, barely noticing the pain from his backside quite firmly meeting with the rocky ground. Majic had the sorceri blood. Majic had untrained talent, gifted to him by a relative descended from the dragons. Smiling a bit foolishly, Orphen watched Majic surface, shaking his head to throw back water. He cut through the lake with lazy yet efficient strokes, swimming with the ease of a boy who had grown up around water. He was fourteen years old, which was a bit late to start training someone, but given the small display he'd already seen… Well, Orphen would say that Majic already had a natural if not conscious grasp of his powers. And it certainly explained the previously unexplainable attraction to the innocuous-seeming blonde.     Majic stumbled back onto land after an indeterminate amount of time—Orphen, caught up in his internal musings, really hadn't been paying attention—collapsing to the sandy shoreline on top of his small pack. Arms flung out willy-nilly, legs bent in uneven angles, head thrown back with eyes closed, chest rising and falling with ragged, short gasps… Orphen suddenly couldn't remember the last time he'd seen anything more beautiful.     In the five years—six? He couldn't remember exactly how long it had been since he'd left the Tower of Fangs. He'd had only one true partner during that time, and even their relationship hadn't lasted very long; Steph hadn't been Azalie, and Steph had given up his powers for something else. It wasn't that his affection for Steph had faded with Steph's loss of power, it was that…that he couldn't understand how someone could so easily dismiss the loss of something that was a part of themselves, that seemed as necessary to Orphen as blood and air and food and shelter and…     And here was a boy, a lovely, kind, engaging boy, who had the gift and seemed to hold it in the same regard as Orphen himself did.     Rapt expression and intense focus returning, Orphen watched as Majic stood and collected his clothes, pulling them back on hastily. He imagined that it was quite cold down by the lake's edge, especially after having just come from the water. Still looking dishevelled, Majic dropped to his knees once again and began to scratch into the sand.     Curiosity began to eat at Orphen after awhile; from his vantage point, he didn't have a clue what it was that Majic was doing.     Every so often the boy would pause and rear back on his haunches, as if to better survey his work. He'd shake his head occasionally, hands smoothing the sand back over before scratching into it once again.     This continued for several minutes, until finally Majic rose unsteadily to his feet, swaying like a tree in the wind. He held his hands out before him, and Orphen was certain that if he'd been closer, he would have heard the boy muttering an incantation.     However, just as a pale pink glow began to gather about the boy's hands, a single tear slipped down Orphen's cheek, and he watched as the boy collapsed once again to the sand, exhaustion taking its toll and pulling him into unconsciousness. Slowly wending his way down the shoreline, Orphen crouched down beside Majic, fingers trailing through blonde hair as his eyes surveyed the grooves in the sand.     Frowning, his fingers drifted from silken strands across smooth skin, finding warm, damp liquid rolling down a rounded cheek. Gathering the liquid to his fingertips, he unconsciously brushed his own tears as he raised his hand over the runes and uttered a single word spell—one that he hadn't spoken in years, for the style had never been comfortable to him.     _"Miseru yo!"_     The runes lit, one by one, until their phrase was clear in its entirety.     _'Iris…Mother… Please come home.'_     A summoning. Crude, ignorantly formed, and lacking a few of the key elements, but it was the rudiments of a summoning nonetheless—complete with the sealing ward scrawled beneath, the runes for the five elements etched within and without at their proper coordinates.     He understood, then—understood better than he had in years. Despite the glaring differences, there were underlying similarities between Majic and himself that couldn't be ignored, similarities that were submerged beneath murky layers of false banter and smiles. How often had he tried the same thing for Azalie, for the Bloody August? How often had he failed, ending in the same state as Majic?     Both of them…only in darkness could they cry.     Pulling his hand back, Orphen again looked at Majic's face. In sleep, rather than being free of trouble, creases marred his brow and the corners of his lips, which were pressed into a taut line. So much for the sleep of the innocent, Orphen thought.     Disregarding the pack—and grateful for the fact that no-one was around to witness this unusual act of tenderness and concern—Orphen gathered the blonde's limp form into his arms and close to his chest. Rising, he began the trek back to Totokanta, figuring that the boy was too exhausted to wake any time soon.     Another tear slid from his cheek, splashing onto unresponsive lips. Because only in darkness did he feel safe enough to cry. 

* * *

"Where'd you find him?"  
    Orphen was slightly startled when Bagup Lyn stepped from the shadows, a frown creasing his forehead. He was staring at Majic's limp form, lips pursed in concern.     "At the lake. Does he do this often?"     Bagup turned his head to the side, away from Orphen's searching gaze. "Often enough. Thank you for bringing him back, sorcerer." He stepped forward to take his son's body from Orphen, both eyebrows rising when Orphen clutched the boy closer, eyes narrowing.     "Your son…he has the blood of the dragons in him."     Majic's father took a fumbling step back, blood draining from his weathered features. "How…"     "I saw him, tonight. Unconsciously he called the magic to him in a way that I've seen few do. And he wrote something in the sands…something that I found most interesting, given that you told me his mother had died."     "Oh?" Bagup nervously licked his lips. "What's that, sorcerer?"     "It was a summons, oyaji—a summons for a woman named Iris."     Bagup leaned heavily against the wall, a shudder running through his body. "I'd hoped he'd forgotten," he whispered, passing a hand in front of weary eyes. "He was so young then…"     "Iris is his mother, isn't she? Why would he be trying to summon her to him if she was dead?"     "Because she's not."     Orphen was startled at the blunt statement. Bagup looked at him finally, apparently tired of dancing around the issue. "I met Iris when I was probably about your age. She was a small thing, so delicate in appearance, and yet she lived alone in the woods to the south of the city. Large aqua eyes, a lustrous tumble of wheat-blonde hair…a sweet personality and generous smile… The animals of the area loved her, birds flocking to her hands to be fed, the deer grazing in her front yard. I suppose I should have known then, known that she was completely human, but…"     Orphen completed the statement for him. "But you were in love."     Bagup shrugged. "How could I not be? Everything about her was perfect, sorcerer, and I pursued Iris with the fervency that only the young can muster. She agreed to marry me a year later, and two years after that…two years after that, Majic was born."     He sighed, looking away. "I probably should never have forced her to leave the woods, but I did. I convinced Iris to come away with me, back to Totokanta. My family has owned this inn for generations, and my father was ailing. He died not long after we returned, and it was then that I began to notice a difference in my wife. She would sneak out at night, occasionally with Majic in tow, and disappear for hours. When she returned, her hair would smell of trees and earth, and would often have bits of vegetation stuck to her clothes. Sometimes her hair would be wet, and I'd know that she'd gone to the lake.     "Just after he turned three, Majic set fire to the kitchen."     Orphen started, nearly dropping the boy in his arms. Deciding that it would be prudent, he snagged a chair with his foot and manoeuvred himself into it, not caring what Bagup thought of the fact that he was holding the man's only child in his lap. "How did he manage that?" he hissed. "Most children at the Tower of Fangs take at least a year of constant tutoring to show aptitude of such proportions."     Again Bagup looked away. "I didn't want to believe it at first. After all, Majic was only three, and there was the possibility that he'd been telling tales for attention."     "What happened, oyaji?" Orphen snapped with impatience. He was glad for the fact that Majic had thoroughly exhausted himself, and wouldn't be waking until probably tomorrow. What would the boy think if he saw their long-staying guest arguing heated with his father?     "Majic said that he saw his mother eating a rabbit—still alive, struggling in her grasp, blood running down her mouth. He panicked, screaming for her to stop. She wouldn't and he unwittingly set the kitchen afire."     Slowly putting two and two together—and coming up with four no less—Orphen gave Bagup a pitying look. "She was Old Blood. And she was never trained, was she?"     "Who was there to train her?" Bagup asked with a shrug of his shoulders. "She never talked about her family, but I have a feeling Iris spent her life almost completely alone. And, you must remember, that there were still factions of the Gods' Followers roaming the land. Had she tried to make her way to the Tower of Fangs, she probably would have been easy prey."     "So why didn't you send her when the Tower representatives came through the town? I know that Childman-sensei found Komikron here. Actually, he would have found Komikron here about the time your wife started to revert."     Finally Bagup looked angry—mostly likely at Orphen's cold tone, but probably also because he was questioning the man's actions. "She had become an animal, Orphen, and she knew it. When an incident before Majic's fourth birthday caused our son to be grievously injured, Iris decided that she needed to leave. She healed him as best she was able—healing had never been her strong suit, though she had wished it otherwise in the years that she had lived in the wilds—and did _something_ to make him forget what had happened. Instead, she gave him the memory that she had fallen ill, and when he awoke, I told him that she had passed away in the night."     He sighed. "In some ways, it was like she had. She packed her belongings and returned to the wilderness. Once or twice I looked for her, but given the state I found her home in, I think I'm glad that I didn't find her. Have you ever heard the villagers speak of the Lady of the Wilds?"     "I've heard a rumour or two."     "I think that whatever part of my wife that was human has vanished completely beneath the pervading blood of her sorceress heritage."     There was sorrow in Bagup's voice—as well as a touch of fear and loathing that Orphen could understand even as he condemned the man's prejudices. "And what about your son, oyaji? Huh? Will you simply wait until your son remembers the truth? Or will you wait until he realises just what it is that makes his fingers dance with light at the lakeside, what drives him to draw sorceri runes in the sand?"     "What would you have me do? Send him to the Tower? You've seen him, sorcerer; my boy is as gentle, as innocent as they come. Your Tower would chew him and spit him out within a week, and then I'd be left with a broken wreck of a child. I've heard the stories—and if you're a product of that school, I can't say as how I have much faith in them."     "I am a product of myself!" hissed Orphen, eyes narrowing. Despite his leaving the Tower, it had still been his home, filled with good memories and good people. "Everything you see before you, oyaji, has been a product of the choices I made, not what others made me into. I—chose—to—be—me!"     "So what are you telling me, sorcerer? To let my son go?"     "I'm telling you to let your son choose. Believe me, oyaji, you don't give your son nearly enough credit."     Cold words, clipped words, delivered in a flat tone by a face suddenly devoid of expression. Shivering, Bagup looked away. And the sorcerer wondered why he questioned him, wondered why he doubted when Orphen could suddenly look like Death when he'd looked like Passion a moment before? And the nerve of implying that he didn't know his own son!     He swallowed, mind churning with disconnected thoughts. As a father, what should he do? His son was fourteen years old now, and in only a few more years he would be considered a man. But if what the sorcerer had said was true, then Majic could very well end up like his mother, a renegade sorcerer living like an animal in the wilds… And Majic…Majic had been slipping away from him slowly in the last few years. Maybe he really didn't know his son as well as he thought he did.     "When he wakes." His voice was thick with emotion, and he turned his eyes away lest the sorcerer see the tears that filled his dark eyes. "When he wakes, tell him—and let him choose." 

* * *

It was the sound of an obnoxious magpie at his window, as well as the sensation of not being alone, that woke Majic Lyn from his sound sleep. Cautiously opening his eyes, he took in his surroundings. Same ceiling, same oil lamp, same bookshelf, same dresser… Yep, it was his room. But how had he gotten home? The last thing he remembered was swimming in the lake.  
    Turning his head slowly to the side, he squeaked, eyes flying wide. Their long-term guest was sitting in a chair beside his bed, arms resting on his knees, unusual angular sienna eyes fastened on him. "Good morning, kid."     Majic blinked…and blinked…and blinked some more. "Good…good morning, Orphen-san."     Orphen smiled, reaching out and ruffling his hair. "You gave your oyaji a bit of a scare last night, disappearing like that. Good thing I was able to find you."     Blushing, Majic thought about throwing the blanket over his face; he hated how easily he was embarrassed! "Um, I'm sorry, Orphen-san. Thanks a lot for bringing me back."     Orphen's smile became more of a rakish smirk. "Well, I've gotta tell ya, I had a bit of an ulterior motive."     Had he had enough breath, Majic would have squeaked again. The intense look Orphen was giving him, leaning forward like that… Stupid, stupid facial capillaries! "Oh?" he asked breathlessly.     "As you know, I'm a sorcerer, a child whose family can claim blood with the dragons."     Majic nodded, dropping his gaze to Orphen's hands. He'd always been intrigued with the man's hands…slender fingers with tapered ends, the pads obviously callused from some variety of work, though the blonde had never seen Orphen do work in the eight months he'd been in residence. "Yes."     "A lot of times sorceri talent goes unnoticed in a child, which is why the Tower of Fangs sends representatives through the various towns to search for untrained talents."     He had a nice voice as well, smooth like velvet, filled with grudging warmth. It reminded Majic in some ways of his mother, that hovering warmth. "Not really. I was always busy with errands for Otousan when the Tower representatives came through town."     To Majic's surprise, Orphen bit back a curse, his face seeming to go from open and pleasant to angry and deadly. Despite this, Majic didn't shrink away; he found something endearing about how open the man was with his emotions, how easily he gave way to his extreme feelings. Surely it beat keeping everything bottled away behind a smile…     "All right, kid, I'll quit beating around the bush." He looked up, fixing Majic with a pointed look. "You've got sorceri blood."     Majic found that he couldn't look away—nor could he blink or breathe. "Wh-what…?" He couldn't have heard correctly…could he?     "It's untrained, but it's there. I saw you tap it last night, down by the lake."     Sitting up, Majic placed his head in his hands, closing his eyes as he tried to remember. "No, that can't be right. Last night I…I…"     "You can't even remember, can you?" Unusually gentle, Orphen placed his hand on Majic's blanket-covered knee, sliding onto the floor beside the bed. "You don't do it consciously, but, deep inside, your heart knows you have the magic. I wouldn't be surprised if you've been using it for years."     "But…" Majic looked up, confusion swimming through aqua pools. "But Otousan would have told me, Orphen-san. He would have told me if I had the ability for magic."     "I thought I was protecting you."     The quiet admission startled both Majic and Orphen; the latter's hand tightening on the former's leg. Without realising it, Majic leaned into the touch—into Orphen—as if expecting to be protected.     The action didn't go unnoticed by Orphen or Bagup.     However, despite his actions, Majic's lips were pursed in thought, gaze unfocused as he addressed his father. "Protecting me?"     "It doesn't matter anymore," Bagup said with a sigh. "And it's probably better this way. If you agree to it, I want the sorcerer to teach you how to use your abilities, Majic. Maybe he'll even help you get into the Tower of Fangs."     Orphen bristled at having plans made for him without being consulted. "Now wait just a—"     Bagup turned his head away from his son, his hard gaze for Orphen alone. "You're the one who set this into motion, sorcerer, so you're the one who'll deal with the consequences." And, with that, he left.     Majic slumped, reeling from the revelations. "Me…a sorcerer?"     "Well, not quite yet, kid," teased Orphen, despite the fact that he was still disgruntled with Bagup's heavy-handedness. "You'll have a lot of training to go through."     "You know, Orphen-san, I used to have dreams…dreams about my okaasan… She was a sorceress, wasn't she?"     "From what little your oyaji told me, she was."     Majic frowned in thought, peering down at his hands, which he was now wringing together fitfully in his lap. "But what if I'm not any good, Orphen-san? What if—"     Orphen brought his hand up to the boy's lips, a wry smile gracing his face. "Okay, for now, let's not go over any 'what if' questions, all right? The only thing you need to do is think about whether or not you want to become my pupil…my apprentice."     As soon as he'd said the words, Orphen felt as though a tremendous weight had been lifted from his shoulders, but he couldn't explain why. Maybe it was because of the way the boy smiled, tears flecking the corners of his dark gold lashes. Maybe it was because of the fire burning behind aqua panes, a passion, a determination, a desire to succeed, to believe.     And maybe it was because the boy was able to do something that Orphen envied. The tears splashed free, drops of warm, salty life that landed on Orphen's hand, reminding him for an instant that the world wasn't always bleak and cold and empty. Majic continued to smile, one hand hesitantly moving to cover Orphen's, the tears captured between their skin. There were no fancy words, no binding oaths, no declarations of undying devotion. There was only the tentative bond of hands, and the simply uttered whisper of "Yes."     For master and apprentice, for one who could only release tears in the dark and one who could still muster tears in the light, it was enough. 


End file.
